


If I fall...

by ScarlettLimps



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Coping, Depression, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Funeral, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22334851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettLimps/pseuds/ScarlettLimps
Summary: It's a surprise who becomes his pillar after his wife is gone.And yet Draco wonders if this green eyed stranger was not a surprise all along?
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. A Glance...

**Author's Note:**

> Astoria Malfoy dies leaving behind a mourning son, and a torn husband, to be saved once again by Harry Potter, and his solemn Albus. 
> 
> This fic is not DRARRY. This is going to be an innocent friendship between Draco and Harry, based on Harry coping Draco after Astoria's death. I have tried to keep the characters as unchanged as possible, but yet somethings are going to be starkly different, as I believe they should have been when characters go through a war. 
> 
> Nothing belongs to me, but my words.

Astoria Malfoy’s funeral was held in midst of rains.

It had rained the night before too, and the night before that. It had rained the night she had last kissed her Husband, and whispered a gentle _Night-Night_ to her son.

_It had rained the night she had died._

The wind rushed by with a cold that seeped through the warmest of furs, and broke through the strongest of charms.

Draco Malfoy stood with neither, looking straight ahead, his one hand grasping lightly the shoulder of his seven year old son. The paleness of his face stark against the grey hue of mourning that had enraptured even the skies.

Clouds raged above, and Draco felt his Scorpius jump below.

_“_ Draco.”

Daphne’s tear stained face, filled his vision, and Draco unknowingly tilted his head to look beyond, towards his wife’s freshly filled grave, her sister had blocked.

A wave of relief washed down his shoulders when he saw the sombre grey wall of stone. Elegant cursive words engraved in white, looked back, soothing.

_Breaking._

“Draco.”

He tore his eyes away.

“It’s time.”

Daphne’s voice was forced, just like she looked. Blonde hair brushed back in a semblance of propriety, and yet there was no one she fooled. Her wet blue eyes looked back at Draco with a sadness that his own could not reflect.

He felt _blank._

He nodded a little late, a little jerking, and he kept nodding until Daphne had put her steady hand on his shoulder above.

“Scorpius is still _here_.” She said, each word slow, each word piercing. “You are not alone.”

It sounded like a warning to his ears. It sounded like a clue to look down to his boy.

His son stood small, wrapped in thick layers his mother had brought, clutching at his sleeves, his grey eyes staring straight ahead.

Draco realised he had not said a _word_ since his mother had passed.

_Since Astoria had gone._

“Scorp.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, dry in the way he hadn’t heard since the war, immediate, desperate in a way that brought memories. “Scorpius”

There was long moment. Rain fell shyly, slowly onto the ground below.

They had buried Astoria in their own home, not Malfoy manor whose white halls, and flawless walls had since long started haunting Draco.

His wrist burned in an uncalled fury, and this time he could not bring himself to care.

“Papa.” Scorpius’ voice was even smaller, he looked up, and for the first time Draco did not see his own younger face staring back at him, lost through the ages, and battered away with toil. He saw _Astoria_ instead in the softness of the corners of his mouth, and large eyes that peered back with a torrid mourning, an _innocence_ that had charmed him off his boots he did not know when.

He suddenly hugged his son, gently bringing Scorpius closer to him by his shoulder, attempting to fill some void that had suddenly torn itself wide again in that short while.

Scorpius did not resist, dissolving, melting boneless within the strong hold of his father’s hand and feeling the ragged beat of his father’s heart.

Voiceless tears wetting Draco’s robes for perhaps the twentieth time that morning.

Daphne’s own eyes watered out, and she clasped her hands against her face, trying and failing to keep in the sobs.

And Draco’s eyes once again found her wife.

“Daphne.” He said, and he did not know how. “Daphne, take Scorp with you…”

Rain fastened, falling quickly, hurriedly, drenching the ground and wetting the green grass. Something screamed. Something burned.

_Everything had changed._

“I’ll… I’ll be in a while.”

And when Daphne had nodded, and gone taking away Scorpius from his grasp, he did not know when. It took him by shock, and yet his eyes refused to look back at the cottage where the mourners had gathered for the ceremony.

His… his _heart_ was here. Buried fathoms below earth.

And yet suddenly, his eyes fell away, much beyond the grave of his wife, much away from the cottage.

A cloaked figure stood far away, in the shadows of the little alcove Astoria had planted when they had bought the cottage.

Darkness swirled around, wind rushed by, and rain splattered in rhythm, and yet the stranger stood undisturbed, unbending, untouched but by solemn depth.

He could not recognize the stranger from far away, even if he had sent the invites himself, writing letters in broken handwriting, with shaken words, and yet for some reason through all the grey, Draco felt the man look at him.

He could not tell how long he stood there, eyeing the unnamed mourner, finding solemn comfort in the darkness of his robes, and unmoving stance, letting the darkness of day and his life wash over him.

When he went back to the cottage for the ceremony, afterwards he found himself looking back from the windows towards the grove of alcove trees.

There was no sign of the cloaked stranger, it was as if he was never there.

And yet green eyes watched Draco Malfoy from far beyond.

* * *

  
ASTORIA MALFOY   
8th August 1982 – 24th August 2019  
 _  
Should we lose each other in the shadow of evening trees  
I will wait for you  
And should I fall behind,  
You wait for me.  
_


	2. A graze...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ta da!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would come to notice that I have changed a few things for my fic. One that Harry has become a Department Head earlier than canon, and that Hermione Granger instead of being the Minister of Magic is the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Also Draco is a financial analyst.

THREE MONTHS LATER: 22nd November, Saturday

Scorpius Malfoy sat on the floor in front of the window that overlooked the backyard of Malfoy cottage. Soft sunshine fell on his pale, soft face as his sleepy, drooped eyes looked far beyond to a single column of grey stone that stood aloof, glistening in unrealised dignity.

Beside him lay an untouched plate of rich breakfast, and a steaming cup of chocolate milk.

Draco sat behind, on the small dining table, his own grey eyes staring far out, and sometimes coming back to glance at his son. Another plate of breakfast sat untouched from him, while he slowly, silently sipped tea from the cup. An empty chair sat ahead of Draco.

This brood of Malfoys had not realised the existence of this particular ritual until after they had been broken apart by curses of time and blood. They did not know how, they did not know when, but sitting round the table every morning for breakfast, _together,_ had become a prerequisite of a good day.

But they weren’t together anymore.

“Scorpius.” Draco said, softly, looking concernedly at his untouched plate on the floor. “You haven’t even started eating yet.”

Silence engulfed the room, hollowing out their ears in the way it ate. Astoria was not particularly talkative, or laughing. She did not prefer to speak while she ate, and yet Scorpius Malfoy, untinged by the ideas of sophistication that had been once drilled into their parents did not share her belief. He would buzz around his mother and father, sharing with them the many exploits of the day he had planned, while the older Malfoys listened with a small amused smile, and love.

Now and then Astoria would chide Scorpius to eat, and he would in between his words absently start munching.

Nothing like that happened anymore.

Scorpius looked back, small and very young in the morning hue that had lightened the cottage walls. His grey, absent eyes found his father’s own hollow orbs, and for a long moment, they only stared. Empathy dancing between them, their own voids merging together, and yet remaining unfilled.

Three months had only made them realise more what they had lost.

“Yes, Papa.” He said, and there was a maturity in the voice there shouldn’t have been.

He slowly got up, still dressed in his night clothes, balancing the plate and cup, and carefully making his way to the table, sitting at the end of the table in between the empty chair and Draco.

The view to the grave unblocked still.

They started eating, small tasteless bites of foods, and sips. Not a word uttered between the two. Draco’s eyes fixed on his son, becoming more and more concerned with his growing quiet. He had been working from home for these last three months not wanting to leave Scorpius alone, and yet today he would have to be out for at least an hour. The ministry had called for some financial insight in some plan.

He had not been told the details yet.

“I’ll have to leave for an hour today.” He said, watching Scorpius reaction. “Will you be alright alone?”

Scorpius looked up from his food, and there was that same sad innocence in his eyes again, only for a moment but there nonetheless. Draco felt some trepidation about leaving him alone, the elf would be there but… the worry still lingered in his mind.

“Fine.” 

The doorbell rang, and both son and father looked towards the gate. Draco opened his mouth to call for Kino, but suddenly remembered he had gone over to the market to refill the stores.

“I’ll get the door.” Draco said, getting up and pointed one finger at Scorpius plate. “Finish it all up.”

The boy blinked his wide grey eyes at Draco for a moment, and then glanced again towards the door. The curiosity almost palpable in his countenance.

No one except Daphne, Blaise and his parents visited them in this cottage, and they always owled before. Draco himself felt his curiosity spike, and he walked towards the door, summoning a robe over his shoulders with his unicorn hair, 12 inches wand.

Silence returned behind him, only infringed by Scorpius sleepy brooding, and munching, his eyes following Draco momentarily but then returning to outside the window, framed by rich crème curtains Astoria had chosen. She had decorated their home, and in a manner that exuded elegance without eating away the comfy homeliness that had vanished from Malfoy manor.

He loved it.

He opened the large mahogany door slowly, letting the light breeze enter, and brush against his hair.

Harry Potter stood in the doorway, wild raven hair framing his sun basked, scarred forehead, and bright green eyes staring back at Draco in a manner he did not remember.

Draco had never been this surprised. Not even when the same Harry Potter had risen from death. Again.

“Draco.” He said, his voice deeper, no more the boyish ramble of his teenage years. “It’s been a while.”

A small smile now framed his face, hesitant but in no manner ingenuous, and his eyes as if changed entirely, looking back at him in a way it was almost fond.

Draco realised he had been staring at Potter till now, and he-with some effort-shook himself from his wordless stupor, physically shaking his head as he looked back at the now considerably taller than before ex-nemesis. He had not talked to the man since the war had faded, the last he had seen had been a surprise in itself.

Harry Potter was the last person one would expect to stand _with_ him in hearing that decided Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s fate.

_Your mother saved my life._

“Potter.” He said, and his voice was unwillingly utterly shocked. “What are you-“

He caught himself in midst. The boy who lived, the department head of Magical law Enforcement was not one he would want the neighbours to see on his door, hastily he stepped in.

“Come in.”

Potter smiled, amused at Draco’s urgency but nonetheless stepped in. He finally noticed the other man’s outfit, the green muggle sweater that did not-for once-bear the sign of Weasley Matriarch, and dark pants. His hair longer than before but no less wild fell down in dark locks, looking almost styled.

He closed the door, turning back to see Potter waiting behind him, almost looking at ease, expect for the uncertain lines round the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s take this inside.” Draco said, and directed him inside to the hall, where Scorpius ate his breakfast.

He had for some reason chosen to forget in the short while, the hero worship his _own_ son felt for the saviour of the wizarding world. It was unfortunate really.

As soon as they entered the hall, they were welcomed by a huge gasp, and the clattering of spoon onto the floor. Scorpius Malfoy had stood up in unknown urgency, stared wide eyed, open mouthed at the visitor. Awe dripping from his countenance.

He did not for once look at his father’s expression just beside Potter, for which Draco was primarily thankful.

“Harry Potter!” Scorpius exclaimed, and took small, uncertain steps towards the man in question, as if he thought it was a dream and did not want to break it off. “You are _Harry_ _Potter_.”

Draco took the chance to look at Potter, who watched his son with a mixture of amusement and confusion. For the first time, Draco could not really blame Potter. His son was the last child, one would expect to be a fan of the boy who lived.

But Astoria had thought it cute and so it had remained.

Only after she had thoroughly satisfied him that it had nothing to do with her own _childhood crush_ for the saviour of wizarding world.

“Hello.” Potter said, kindly, looking down at Scorpius. “You are S-Scorpius, no?”

Then he looked at Draco as if asking for reassurance that he had indeed said the name right. Draco on his own childish part refused to give any.

Scorpius awe grew even louder, and mirth danced in his grey eyes. His face pleased, and full of admiration all directed towards Harry Potter. He gulped once, twice, and then in a small scared and awed voice asked Potter.

“You k-know my name?”

Potter seemed to be utterly surprised by this reception and to an extent speechless, however amused. It did not stop however stop him from answering his son in all seriousness.

“Of course.” He said, smiling kindly, his green eyes twinkling. “I have son just about your age. How could I not?”

As if that made any sense.

But when Scorpius nodded seriously, not once taking eyes off Potter, Draco had the sudden, irritable urge to rub his head. How in the world had Scorpius taken this strong worship for Potter, he did not know. There was absolutely no conversation of the saviour in the house started by Draco, but still numerous posters of the boy who lived and paper cutting were eloquently stuck onto his seven year old bedroom. His name at the very least said _three times_ in his house.

At least it was before.

Suddenly all irritation vanished off Draco’s mind. He had for a moment by the arrival of his old nemesis forgotten of his wife’s death in irritation and confusion, but so had Scorpius. There was genuine mirth on that face after Merlin knew how many tear stained nights, and blank eyes.

Draco would not ruin that.

He sat down on his place, picking up his now cold tea, and sparing a glance at his breakfast. One look at Potter, and a tilted gaze, and he himself dragged a chair out and sat.

Leaving the chair in front of Draco untouched.

“Scorpius.” Draco said, looking at his son in mock stern. “What did I say about finishing breakfast?”

His son drooped a bit, eyeing Draco once, twice but his eyes always returning back over to the chosen one every time. All the while Harry Potter watched with fondness, a kind expression plastered onto his face.

It surprised Draco, to an extent, and yet it did not.

Of all things Harry Potter was, even Draco could agree _kind_ was the most clear. After the war, the destruction had been unimaginable. Potter had been immediately taken in as an auror, and Draco remembered he was one of the few who had skipped the three year training period entirely, certainly the youngest one to do so. He had spent all his earnings and considerable portions of the Potter and Black wealth on construction processes for several y

Some thought it was only expected of the boy who lived, but Draco knew better. There would have been no fingers pointed had Potter not decided to donate.

Scorpius sat back down on his chair, beside Draco, and picked up his fork. He looked back at Draco, but his face faltered on seeing his expression.

“Eat.” He said, pointedly.

The young boy muttered something inaudible under his breath, and started eating, glancing now and then at Potter, in some unsaid fascination. He might not be a coward, but yet not as willful to have held a conversation with his ideal. Instead he chose to watch their proceedings.

He looked back at Potter, who was watching their conversation with amusement.

“Potter.” Draco said, taking a sip of his cold tea. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Potter’s face smoothened, he looked at Draco for a moment, giving him the chance to watch the man. Harry Potter had aged well, his face marred by the famous lightening scar had become white, spreading all over the side of forehead, there were a few more cuts here and there on his face, white and jagged, and yet an aura of power exuded from him.

“I have a… _business_ proposition for you.” Potter said, a nervousness tinging his features. “It’s a weekend, and I thought it would be convenient for you if I met you right here.”

Draco’s mind wandered over to the ministry letter.

_So this was the business?_

“There is a new scheme I am planning.” He said, grasping his hands together. “And I need your financial expertise to organise it.”

Draco raised an eye. A new scheme was not surprising, it had been a year since Potter had become the department head, and already the changes he had brought about were monumental.

And necessary.

Potter had both the reputation, and the position to introduce schemes and get them readily accepted by the public. The prophet having become entirely pro-potter since after the war had already declared him the most brilliant Department head in the wizarding history.

What surprised Draco was his choice of financial analyst.

“And why would you give me the…” Draco said, sounding unimpressed. “ _The pleasure?”_

Potter did not blink an eye, however a boyish grin broke on his face, sending Draco back to his time spent watching Potter in secret across the hall.

“Because you are the best?” He asked.

Draco eyed him unimpressed over the cup, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are not fooling anyone.”

He kept his cup down.

“What is the real reason, Potter?”

Potter’s grin faltered, and suddenly he looked very much tired than before. He unfolded his hands and pressed them on the table. The shift in mood was even clear to Scorpius who listened carefully in midst of small bites.

“I have tried Davis Mire.” He said, looking at his hands in thought. “His reputation was quite stellar, I thought he would be a fit but…”

Potter took a deep breath.

“Let me guess.” Draco said, understanding dawning on him. “He agreed with everything you said?”

Potter shook his head in resignation, and let out a nervous laugh. The exhaustion on his face was very much evident in that moment.

“Everything.” Potter said, tired. “Halfway through it I realised we had ended up with twice more budget than we had estimated.”

He took another deep breath.

“It was messy to say the least.”

Silence engulfed the room, and even Scorpius munches quietened to a still. The tension in the room had become almost palpable. The shift in Potter’s posture. The dark shadows that fell onto his face. No one could have said they had been this jovial moments before.

Draco finally broke the silence.

“And you believe I could be a fit?” He asked, fixing his piercing gaze with Potter. “I would not do the same?”

There was a mocking curve to his voice, which he could not have resisted, even if he had tried. Harry Potter, the boy who had refused his hand twenty two years ago, had now come to his doorstep asking for help.

It was almost a dream come true.

Only he had lost that dream somewhere along the line. He had grown up and seen Harry Potter, and his companions for what they were.

The shadows danced along Potter’s face, tension, stress, and overwork out for all to see. He worked with the _scum_ of all humanity, the _filthiest_ among all wizards and to what end?

Another darkness would take its place and defile the society all over again. And the world would turn towards him to clean up what their own prejudices, own _contempt_ had brought about.

There was nothing _golden_ about what they did.

“Draco Malfoy _agreeing_ with me is the last thing I would expect.” Potter said, and a mirthless smile came to stain his face. He shook his head, sitting up straighter. “There is no one better.”

_And weren’t those words elixir to his ears?_

Draco hummed thoughtfully. The offer seemed almost tempting. There was no doubt he was the best in his trade. Being Lucius Malfoy’s son taught you managing finances like the back of your hand, and yet there were very few instance he had been asked to provide assistance to the ministry. Minister Kingsley had reorganised the government in a manner that left the dark wizarding families with minimum say in the policy making, very much unlike how Fudge had run the government pinning each of his father’s words.

Working with the boy who lived, on a scheme that was no doubt important would do wonders to his already glistening reputation, and yet…

He knew exactly how Gryffindors could get, and no matter how tolerant he had become of late, there were some things that did not fest well with him.

The boy who lived had once been on the top of that list.

Potter as if having had read his thoughts, spoke up placidly. “I know you think I’ll be impractical, and all that…” Potter waved his hand in the air. “…Gryffindor nonsense.”

He looked at Draco, his green eyes so much more piercing than he had ever remembered.

“I will not.” He said, concluding. “I know you are the expert, and I know you aren’t childish to purposely refuse things, and I have also… _considerably_ grown.”

He grinned again, however this time it lacked the brightness of before.

Draco thought of what he had said, letting the silence once again take over the room. There was substance in what Potter had said, and there was also truth. Harry Potter’s eyes no longer burnt with the teenage angst, and rightfulness of his youth, instead there was another fire that raged.

_Of power._

“What do you say, Draco?” Potter asked, and though his voice was the same confident, pleasant tone he used with the journalists, there was some desperation that haunted beyond. “Do you accept?”

Draco did not have to think more.

“Yes.”

The atmosphere brightened up suddenly, and so did Potter’s face as if some unknown weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He smiled genuinely at Draco his green eyes dancing with mirth.

“I have a few conditions though.”

Draco had expected many things at that. A Gryffindor’s opposition, a dramatic outburst of fury, unintelligent accusations of selfishness.

An amused shake of head, and rolling of eyes that was almost fond had not once crossed his mind.

Harry Potter shifted on his chair, sitting even straighter. His expression smoothened instantly, and within a moment all signs of exhaustion and desperation vanished from the wizard’s face. In its place was will, and power.

Draco did not once kid himself enough to think it a show.

“I did not expect anything less.” Potter said, letting a small smile trace his lips. “What exactly are they?”

He did not waste time.

“I have full independence and decision regarding our working pattern, of course in a manner that suits both our schedules.” He said, fishing for the slightest change in Potter’s countenance. “I have a specific style of working that I am afraid I cannot change.”

Potter nodded.

“Agreed.” He said, as if he hadn’t handed Draco the right to boss him around, and yet when he recalled Hermione Granger working alongside Potter as the deputy head of the Department of Mysteries on various cases, he was not surprised. If nothing, working alongside Granger would have taught one flexibility. “And?”

Draco smirked.

“I do not see the sight of any of the Weasley the whole time we are working.”

Potter’s expression did not falter, however specks of amusement spread over his face, eyes dancing in mirth.

“Should I be flattered, Draco?” He asked, reflecting Draco’s own smirk albeit a bit boyish. “Am I more _tolerable_ for you than the Weasleys?”

Draco could not resist smiling this time.

“No, not at all.” He said, his voice a drawl. “Just more rewarding.”

Potter laughed, a full rumble that rose from his throat in cascades of mirth. Draco did not remember Potter’s laugh to be this… _happening,_ however he supposed it was a nice change from before.

“Of course.” Potter said. “ _Of course.”_

Draco Malfoy smirked, watching as Potter lounged back in his chair, very much in relieved at the other wizard’s acceptance. He extended his hand forward, watching as Potter’s eyes followed it.

Without hesitation, another firm, rough hand had clasped his own.

After what seemed a million years, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had finally locked hands.

The only one to be surprised however was a seven year old who had just witnessed his father shake hands with the _greatest_ wizard of the century.

Scorpius Malfoy’s face was a sight to see.

And when Harry Potter once again dissolved into laughter, even his oldest nemesis could not have blamed him, his own face softened by a small fond smile.

_Perhaps working with Potter would have other benefits, after all._


End file.
